


But this Time, my dear, we catch our demise

by iwaizumemes (skytramp)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: F/M, Gen, Hallucinations, Hospitals, M/M, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Synesthesia, more tags/categories/relationships/characters to be added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-27
Updated: 2015-05-22
Packaged: 2018-03-19 22:09:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3626082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skytramp/pseuds/iwaizumemes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Akaashi Keiji is quite a few different things: he's a student at Fukurodani Academy, a setter for the school's volleyball team, a moderately accomplished violinist, and a sufferer of two rare forms of neurological disorder. </p><p>  <i>The doctors told him that the clock was a common symptom of his Synesthesia. That seeing something such as time in a physical space was a way to break it down and cope with it, a way for his mind to understand it, and he understood that as well. But just because he understood that the clock over his shoulder, following him with it’s mocking ticks, was something that wasn’t real, didn’t change its hold on his life. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. cold, beautiful

**Author's Note:**

> This is the beginning of a multi-chapter fic that will probably be around 40K when its all told. It's set for 15 chapters but that could be adjusted. There will be pairings but romance is secondary to the plot. It will be angsty and it will be sad but there is a happy ending eventually!
> 
> The entire concept and plot was created by Kasih/ @daisukinjou on twitter who asked me to write this for her and who is the Oikawa to my Iwaizumi and is super supportive of my writing even when I don't think it's great.

He felt the door slam shut on his mind. It was familiar, almost comforting by this point, how the shelves of memories spread out around him, lining the walls floor to ceiling. He walked to the first shelf, noticing the few pages out of place and began his task. He had to organize, to sort, to sift through the thoughts and memories that sometimes didn’t feel as real as this room. 

He knew, of course, that this room wasn’t real. It was in his mind, a coping mechanism, a figment of a broken and troubled mind, but it was real to him. 

He heard his footsteps approaching before he saw him. A small child, probably less than ten, with shaggy black hair and a smile plastered on his face. 

_”Play with me, ‘kaashi!”_

He shook his head. He was too busy. He had dozens of memories out of place, nagging at the edges of his mind, they would keep him from focusing, he didn’t have time to play. The child didn’t move. 

_”Come on! Just this once?”_ he begged.

“No. I can’t. I’m busy.” His voice was monotone in the large room, strikingly different than the child, the child that he had been just 7 years ago. The child that Akaashi had been crossed his arms in a pout and wandered away. 

He turned back to his shelf. Organize. Sort. Everything needed to be in place. 

Only when the memories were on their shelves, right side up, edges aligned did Akaashi step away and look at his work. He wiped his brow with a shaky hand as the walls began to shift and blur. A voice was cutting through, blaring loud as if it was being piped through surround sound speakers.

“Akaashi, hey bud, you there?” The voice said, and then just repeated his name. “Akaashi, Akaashi, wake up.”

The walls shook and dissolved and Akaashi blinked. The gym lights were bright overhead and hurt his eyes. It took him a few seconds to focus on the face that was right in front of his. 

“You back with us now, Akaashi?” The boy’s voice didn’t sound quite as loud now, but it was closer and he thought he sounded worried.

He nodded slowly.

“Yeah, Bokuto-san, I’m here. I’m fine.” When he looked around he saw the rest of the Fukurodani volleyball team gathered around him at a respectful distance. Most seemed to look worried, if not downright terrified at what they saw, but Bokuto was close, and his hands were on Akaashi’s shoulders as if to steady him. 

Akaashi looked Bokuto in the eye. “How long was I…?” His voice trailed off.

“How long were you doing the world’s best impression of a teenage vegetable? About a minute and a half.” Bokuto answered and tried to smile, but his smile didn’t look as natural as it normally did. 

Akaashi nodded in reply. A minute and a half. That wasn’t too bad, in terms of his normal brief catatonic states. It had never happened during volleyball practice before, though, and that was a concern. He wondered if something was different, if something about the gym had changed that triggered it here for the first time.

The school was aware of his medical history, technically. Chronic Spatial Sequence Synesthesia and minor Misophonia was what his school records stated, and as such he was always notified in advance of fire drills and allowed to leave school for that part of those days. His teachers were all briefed on how to recognize his despondent catatonia or the mood changes that could come with his misophonia and what to do if either had been triggered. No one on the volleyball team was, though, and now that he considered it, that had been a grievous oversight. 

An oversight that may have cost him the trust of his teammates. He looked around the gym again. His teammates hadn’t moved, but most of their expressions had softened into something resembling relief. He couldn’t shake the feeling that none of them would look at him the same, especially not their captain, who was still standing in front of him with hands on his shoulders. 

“I’m fine, now, Bokuto-san.” Akaashi repeated, and Bokuto slapped him on the shoulders before letting go. Akaashi tried not to wince as Bokuto stepped away. 

“Alright, boys, back to practice!” He clapped his hands, “Let’s go! Let’s go!”

Akaashi ran his hands through his hair. It was getting too long again, shaggy and falling in his eyes. He went to walk forward to join his team back near the net when Bokuto stepped in front of him.

Akaashi tried to sidestep him and the captain’s hands pushed against his chest. 

“Nope.” He said.

Akaashi looked at him with a blank stare.

“You’re not practicing anymore, today. No way.”

“I’m fine, Bokuto-san, I can still practice.” Akaashi insisted, trying again to push past Bokuto’s hands. 

“Well I’m not letting you, and _I’m_ the captain and the Ace! So what I say goes!” Akaashi wanted to roll his eyes at Bokuto’s normal boast but if it meant he wasn’t going to get to practice he had to fight the urge. 

“I want to practice.” He said flatly. 

“And you’re not going to.” Bokuto tried to make his voice sound as serious as Akaashi’s and failed miserably but Akaashi knew at this point it was futile to resist. 

Akaashi just nodded quickly and turned around, heading for the club room. 

The club door slammed open slightly harder than it needed to and Akaashi stalked in and slumped on a bench against the wall. He wanted to yell but he knew it wouldn’t do any good. He ran his hands through his hair again, pushing it away from his forehead, and took a deep breath. 

He made a list of the things he would have to do: tell his doctor about the most recent event, tell the school that someone on the volleyball team or the advisor needs to be trained to handle the possibility of a second situation, he needed to pick up his violin from home before he went to his instructor’s house tonight because he forgot to bring it to school this morning, and somehow, against all odds, he’d have to make sure his team still trusted him to toss to them. 

He stood up and gathered his things. He would go home and take a shower before meeting his violin instructor. 

_____

Precisely an hour later he was standing in the drizzle on his instructor’s doorstep, knocking softly with his violin case held securely in his other hand. The damp air plastered his hair to his forehead and he pushed it back fitfully as he waited for the door to open. 

The door opened to reveal a stooped old woman with bright eyes and a clever smile who beckoned him inside. 

“Akaashi-kun where is your umbrella?” She asked, her voice full of worry. She did not wait for Akaashi to answer the question before she continued tutting. “It doesn’t do for a young boy like you to travel without an umbrella, you will get yourself sick and _then_ where will you be? In bed, that’s where. You’ll be in bed and not playing that beautiful instrument of yours or,” she shook her head in disdain, “playing that dreadful sport you love so much. Akaashi-kun you really need to quit that sport, you’re going to hurt yourself one of these days. And what will happen then? You’ll break your poor sensei’s heart when you can’t play for me.” 

He followed the old woman as she walked through the small house to a room near the back where they practiced. He knew she wasn’t expecting a response from him, she lectured him similarly every time they met and he wasn’t talkative to begin with. 

The practice room contained two chairs and an upright piano with its bench. A music stand held sheet music next to one of the chairs and Akaashi unpacked his violin and set the case beside the music stand. 

“Let’s pick up where we left off last week, shall we?” His instructor chirped as she sat behind the piano. She didn’t always accompany him but she always settled on to the piano bench regardless. 

Akaashi straightened the sheet music on the stand and brought the violin to his chin. He began to play.

He felt the tempo as a ticking clock in time with the clock in the back of his mind. He’d always been told he had perfect timing but those who thought it was a compliment didn’t know what it was like to be haunted by the passing of seconds, perpetually over his shoulder, just behind him and out of eyesight. 

The doctors told him that the clock was a common symptom of his Synesthesia. That seeing something such as time in a physical space was a way to break it down and cope with it, a way for his mind to understand it, and he understood that as well. But just because he understood that the clock over his shoulder, following him with it’s mocking ticks, was something that wasn’t real, didn’t change its hold on his life. 

It was also helpful, though, having an internal clock so tightly knit into his mind that he could play music to its passing seconds. His bow pulled taut across the violin’s strings and his fingers danced in time to the moving notes on the page. The song was happy, upbeat, a song in contrast with his mood and the dreary weather pounding against the small window. 

When he glanced up he saw his sensei nodding and smiling along as he played, she bounced gently on her piano bench. He focused again on the piece, drawing out all the subtleties of the melody and spinning them in a complex web throughout the room. He almost thought he could imagine the tendrils of the music, flowing out from his fingers, from his instrument, reaching to the corners of the room before trickling off into nothingness. 

The song finished and Akaashi brought the violin down to his lap silently. 

“Very good, Akaashi-kun.” His instructor said, rising from the piano bench. She hobbled around and lifted the seat on the bench, revealing the storage space beneath it, packed with sheet music. She pulled out a few pages and dropped them on the stand on top of the song he just finished. “Let’s try this one, now, shall we? It feels more fitting, today.” She patted his shoulder gently and went back to her seat on the piano bench before he looked at the pages in front of him. 

_Violin Concerto in D Major_ the page read, and in the corner the name Tchaikovsky. As he began to play, a slower tempo, sight reading and learning as he went, he heard the tune. It was melancholy and a gripping sadness pulled deep from his chest at the end of each refrain. 

It seemed as if the sadness from the song was connecting, intertwining with the sadness and frustration he felt in his mind. Somewhere deep down he was _angry_ and this music nagged at that anger, prodding it and then ripping it away to twist it with a morose grief that made his eyes sting and blur as he stared at the page. 

When he finished the piece, with minimal mistakes, he felt a wetness on his cheek, and set down his bow to touch his face. He wiped the tears that he hadn’t known he had shed quickly and looked up at his Instructor. Her eyes were shining as well and she smiled at him and nodded slowly. 

“One more time, Akaashi-kun. On tempo this time.” She said quietly, and he began again. 

___

His doctor had suggested two things after he told him about the event during volleyball practice: a synesthesia support group that met in Sendai every Wednesday evening and Saturday afternoon, and that he quit volleyball. 

He refused, and his doctor argued, he refused again, louder, and his mother argued. He still refused. The support group he could handle, sure, the train ride to Miyagi twice a week would be boring and tedious, and the group itself was certain to be awkward, but he would _not_ quit volleyball. 

 

That night at home his mother knocked gently on his door.

“Keiji, can I come in?” He heard her say, muffled through the door. 

When he didn’t answer she cracked the door open and looked inside. Akaashi was sitting at his desk, his textbooks in a stack in front of him, staring at his notebook. 

“Can we talk?” She asked, stepping inside and shutting the door behind her. She leaned back against the closed door and watched her son. 

“I won’t quit volleyball.” Akaashi said, still looking at his notebook and not moving. 

“I didn’t come to ask you to quit. I just wanted to talk to you, to make sure everything is alright.” She wasn’t smiling but her voice was soft and loving when Akaashi looked up at her. 

“I’m fine.” He said, unconvincingly, and they sat in silence for a few more seconds, Akaashi concentrating on the mostly blank pages in front of him.

“So, support group on Saturday?”

He nodded. “I’ll get permission to miss Saturday and Wednesday practices.” Privately he knew missing that much practice would hurt the team, how would Bokuto fare without him there to keep him focused? _It’s better than quitting the team, though_ , he thought. 

The two of them sat in silence and Akaashi picked up his pencil to work on his homework. 

“I’ll call you when dinner is ready, don’t work too hard.” She said, standing up straight and opening the door. He nodded to her as she left. 

He spent the next hour fruitlessly attempting to focus on his physics work. His mind was a blur of sound and color and ticking clocks that kept him thinking about what he would say to Bokuto the next time he saw him. He would need to apologize, for what happened in practice, and then, somehow, he’d have to ask to miss two practices a week for the foreseeable future. Bokuto wouldn’t be mad, he didn’t think, he probably wouldn’t even accept the apology, but he’d be disappointed. 

Akaashi didn’t like to see when Bokuto’s head would drop to his chest, when his shoulders would slump for just a second before his cheerfulness would return with a decidedly artificial overtone. Disappointing Bokuto was one of his least favorite things, and avoiding that outcome was probably what had kept him playing volleyball in middle school. 

The walls coalesced around his mind and he stood in the library again. 

It wasn’t as bad as last time, he noticed, just one shelf out of place. He reached for the shelf and it shifted and he stood in a dark hallway with wood paneled walls. In front of him was young Keiji again. 

“Let’s play, ‘kaashi!” The boy yelled, jumping up and down.

“No, I have to go.” Akaashi tried to push past him, gripping his skinny shoulders and sidestepping, but the boy wouldn’t move. 

“Just one game!” He whined this time, his dark eyes staring up at Akaashi. 

Akaashi felt anger well up in his chest and he shoved the boy hard to the side. 

“No! Go away!” He shouted as the boy fell to the floor and he ran. The hallway was a dim maze, twisting corridors, all covered in the same wood paneling, with no doors in sight. He followed the hall. It only led in one direction and by the time he reached the library and slammed the door closed he was panting. 

He shoved the guilty feelings away as they attempted to wash over him. He had to organize, there were memories out of place and they needed sorted. 

He stepped once again to the untidy shelf and reached for the first page. His fingers grazed the edges and the memory fluttered to life. 

It was Bokuto. 

They were in middle school, Akaashi in his second year, Bokuto in his third and they were tossing a volleyball back and forth. The evening sun slanted orange across the scene glinting off of Bokuto's undyed dark hair that lay across his forehead in a soft wave. 

_"You'll keep playing, won't you, Akaashi?"_

Of course he would. Of course. He couldn't disappoint this boy. It didn't matter that volleyball interfered with his violin lessons. Didn't matter that he was always hot and sweaty and smelly and he hated that feeling. He would keep playing, only because Bokuto asked. 

The page slid into place and away from his fingertips. He moved to the next. 

It was his first year of high school and he was in the volleyball club room. The rest of the team was at practice and Bokuto sat on the bench against the wall with his head in his hands. 

_"You're going to be the ace, Bokuto-San. I promise. You're the best, everyone out there knows it."_

When Bokuto shook his head and took a staggered breath Akaashi had hugged him. Bokuto hugged him back. 

The memory faded into blurred white as the page aligned with the rest. The next few were happy. Celebrations, cheering, jumping and hugs. All Bokuto. All smiling and radiant and they filled Akaashi with a joy he rarely felt. 

The last memory fluttered against his finger and he knew what it would be before he saw it take shape. 

A dark room, full of heavy sleeping breaths. Bokuto on his futon beside Akaashi. They lay on their sides, facing each other, less than a meter between their faces. 

_"What does it mean if I feel this way about guys?"_ He heard Bokuto ask. 

Akaashi remembered how his heart hammered in his chest, like a faint echo. He had been afraid Bokuto would hear it. 

When the memory was in place he felt the walls shake like a scrambled television signal and the library disappeared. 

He sat at his desk and his notebook laid abandoned in front of him. He groaned and rested his head against the paper. 

 

Akaashi was the first person there for morning practice the next day. The sun had barely risen over the horizon and the air left his lungs in clouds of white. He watched his clock from the corner of his eye. He was early, Bokuto would arrive some time in the next ten minutes, Akaashi hoped, and they could talk alone. He unlocked the club room and sat on the bench, his head resting back against the wall. 

Five minutes later the door flew open, slamming against the wall and making Akaashi jump in surprise. 

“Hey, Akaashi!” Bokuto shouted as he walked into the room. 

“Not so loud, Bokuto-san, it’s early.” 

“But it’s _morning_. Morning means practice and I’m totally gonna kick ass today!” His voice was still loud, ringing through the small room, as he dropped his bag.

Akaashi nodded and swallowed. He knew he didn’t have much time before the rest of the team showed up and Bokuto would be irretrievably distracted. He had to talk to him now. 

“Bokuto-san?” He said tentatively.

“What’s up?” His face was blank as he looked up from where he’d been digging in his bag. 

“I wanted to,” He swallowed again, he’d practiced his apology in his head dozens of times but now his throat was dry and everything he rehearsed sounded stupid in his head. “I’m sorry.” He said instead.

“For what?” Bokuto’s voice sounded incredulous and more than a little confused. 

“For what happened at practice the other day.” Akaashi couldn’t bring himself to expand. He didn’t know how much Bokuto knew about his medical conditions and he didn’t want to scare him by explaining too much.

“Oh, when you blanked out? You don’t have to apologize, man. I heard,” His voice trailed off and he ran a hand against the side of his head. “I mean, I asked the school nurse about you.” 

Akaashi thought he saw a brightness in Bokuto’s cheeks that wasn't there before but in the dim light he couldn’t be sure. Bokuto continued after a few seconds of silence. 

“You’re not quitting, are you?” 

Akaashi sat up straight and shook his head.

“No! No, I’m not quitting. I won’t quit. I’m just sorry you had to deal with that.” He kept shaking his head, as if to reassure Bokuto. 

“Whew.” Bokuto replied, wiping his forehead in mock relief. “Why d’you gotta sound so serious all the time then? You’re scaring me.”

“Sorry.” Akaashi said again, looking down at his lap. 

They sat in silence and Bokuto quickly changed into his practice shirt, shivering in the cold room. 

“Bokuto-san?” 

“Yeah?” Bokuto looked just as blank faced as he had the first time Akaashi spoke, as if open to any reaction, anything that Akaashi could possibly say to him. 

“I have to miss Wednesday and Saturday practices.” He said quickly, “For doctor’s appointments. Every week, I don’t know how long.” 

Bokuto’s face dropped into a sad expression and Akaashi almost winced. When he looked back up his eyes were hopeful. 

“But you’re not quitting the team so that’s alright. That first year’s gonna have to step up his game if he wants to toss for the ace!” His voice rose to its earlier pitch and he pumped his arm in excitement and Akaashi sighed in relief. 

Akaashi bowed his head slightly in Bokuto’s direction. “Thank you, Bokuto-san.” 

Bokuto laughed from deep in his chest. “Nothin’ to thank me for, Akaashi, nothin’ at all.” 

Practice went smoothly. He stayed focused, alternating between tossing and receiving and Bokuto stayed as upbeat and positive as Akaashi had ever seen him. 

Akaashi only spared a moment to think about the pinkish blush on Bokuto’s cheeks that morning as he watched Bokuto jump for a spike. He watched the stretch of his arm as it swung down, lean and powerful, the expanse of his shoulders and back, how his smile lit his face as the ball hit the court with a definitive smack. Bokuto was a smiling god on the court, his power only rivaled by his beauty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this beginning, I know there's not much plot yet.
> 
> Giving myself deadlines will help keep me focused. 
> 
> I plan on updating this fic every two weeks, on Fridays. Expect Chapter 2 on April 10th!


	2. your stars are fading

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _[disclaimer: Akaashi's synesthesia takes on a semi-supernatural element in this chapter, it is not indicative of an actual symptom of the disorder, thought it bears similarities to reported phenomena]_

Saturday morning he woke with hushed anticipation. A heavy weight pressed around him, as if the air in his room had turned to something slightly thicker than air and was trying to choke him. He rose and rubbed the chill from his arms. He had a train to catch in an hour, he would have to get ready quickly. 

He watched the landscape passing from the train windows with headphones on, hillsides with the occasional city. The train only made two stops between Tokyo and Sendai Station, and after Omiya Akaashi leaned against the window and watched the blur of green.

His headphones played a variety of Tchaikovsky pieces, and he set _Violin Concerto in D Major_ to repeat. He closed his eyes and focused on the music willing his mind to tune out all distractions. 

During yesterday’s volleyball practice he’d tried to pay special attention to the rest of his team. Everything seemed ordinary at first glance, but he thought maybe Sarukui was slightly more hesitant in his blocks, and possibly the look on Onaga’s face had been apprehension. Their play had been normal though, they still worked like the champion team they had always been. 

He considered the idea that his worries had been unfounded, that no one would look at him differently, treat him differently. It was too much for him to hope for, that he could continue to play volleyball with no consequence, so he smothered the hope that threatened to blossom in his chest. He still had to prove himself to them, one way or another. 

He left the train station and took the short walk to the hospital. It was large, the largest hospital in Sendai, and its sprawling complex filled a few blocks. He had been there once before, with his mother to visit his aunt who worked as a surgeon. His mother had almost insisted on accompanying him this time as well. It had taken him 20 minutes of nearly pleading to convince her that he was capable of going alone. He _was_ sixteen, after all, nearly an adult, he could do things like ride the train and walk to a hospital on his own. And besides, if anything really terrible happened his aunt would be around somewhere.

He had the attendant at the information desk direct him to the neurological therapy wing and soon found himself seated in a plastic chair, as part of a circle of similar plastic chairs in a large room with sterile white walls. He didn’t spend too much time looking at the other people around him, they seemed to mostly sit quietly like him, or occasionally talk in pairs or groups. 

A tall woman in a white labcoat entered the room, and when she cleared her throat the conversations petered off into silence. 

“Hello,” She said, her voice was cheery, “let’s start off with our introductions as usual, it seems we have at least one new face today.” She looked pointedly at Akaashi and he looked away, embarrassed to be put on the spot.

“I’ll start.” She smiled, “I’m Dr. Hamada Ryoko, I’m a clinical neurologist and the person who leads this support group. I do not experience any forms of synesthesia but I’m only here to keep things organized and on topic. The support comes from _you_. You are here to support each other.” She nodded as she finished and looked at the person sitting to the right of where she stood. 

They began to introduce themselves, circling around the room. Most had some variation of grapheme, or color synesthesia, where they perceived things such as numbers or letters as having a particular identifying color. Akaashi wasn’t surprised to find no one shared his diagnosis of spatial sequence synesthesia, it was rather rare. However, when a small man seated a few seats to his left had mumbled something about misophonia Akaashi had turned sharply, unable to hide his surprise. 

When it was his turn he sat up straighter but stared pointedly at the linoleum flooring in the center of the circle. 

“My name is Akaashi Keiji, I’m sixteen. I have spatial sequence synesthesia and minor misophonia.” When he looked up he noticed Dr. Hamada nod at him in approval. A small girl directly across from him was staring now, with her mouth wide open. He hadn’t been paying attention to her when she introduced herself but now that he looked she was probably the only person in the room younger than he was. 

He looked away, back towards the doctor, as the rest of the group introduced themselves but he still felt the girl watching him. 

After introductions were complete Dr. Hamada led them in a few exercises: practices to deal with stress, to explain their conditions, breathing techniques to calm them. Some people in the group shared stories and Akaashi listened intently. 

None of their stories were quite like his, but they had similarities. Stories where their condition separated them from their friends and family were common, as were the insecurities about sharing their experiences with strangers or potential romantic partners. Akaashi did not feel isolated from his family, but when he remembered the sharp tang of fear he felt watching the hesitance in his teammates’ eyes, he knew the experience was familiar. 

The idea of sharing what he went through with a romantic partner was shockingly terrifying. Most of the people there were older than him, many in their twenties and thirties by all appearances, so romantic relationships were a frequent topic. Unbidden, the image of Bokuto shaking him to consciousness came to mind and he smothered it the best he could. Bokuto was his friend, his teammate, and that was _all_ they could be, he told himself firmly.

The small girl across from him raised her hand and was the next to speak. Her voice was sweet, though not as high pitched as he’d been expecting, and she sounded nervous. He watched her fiddle with a hair clip attached to a small ponytail beside her face. 

“Well, I just sort of wanted to say,” she started, eyes darting around the room, “That I know how it feels to have to tell someone about… all this.” Her arms gestured wildly, encapsulating the room around them, he supposed she was trying to imply that _all this_ was synesthesia. “I mean, my boyfriend and I were friends before but it was still hard,” she swallowed thickly and Akaashi wondered why she even shared her story if it made her so nervous, “it was hard to tell him but it was worth it. He’s very supportive. I’m glad I have him.” She finished and nodded as if she’d answered a question correctly. 

Dr. Hamada spoke before another person in the group could. 

“Very good, Yachi, you bring up a good point, and that is that when you _do_ share, your partner can become part of your support system. And support systems are very important.”

Akaashi took the time to think about his “support system” as it was, while another member of the group shared their story. He had his mother. His father worked long hours but he thought he could also add him. He didn’t have too many close friends, his closest was probably Bokuto but they hardly saw each other outside of the gym. He’d never really _felt_ like he was isolated, he was simply quiet most of the time, observant. 

He thought about the girl, Yachi, and her boyfriend. It was pretty brave of her to talk about telling him, despite her obvious nerves, he thought he might want to speak up next time, it would be the least he could do. He could contribute to the support of others. 

Akaashi spent the remainder of their two hours session listening to others’ stories. He didn’t speak up, himself, but he heard a lot of things that he related to and when Dr. Hamada released them with a smile and a wave he was glad he had come. As he exited the room he felt a small hand grab his arm near the elbow and when he looked down he saw Yachi. 

“Yachi-san?” He asked looking down at her. She let go of his arm and stepped back bumping her shoulder against the wall of the hallway. 

“Hi!” She replied and smiled at him. “You’re Akaashi-san, right? What sort of things do you see?” 

She kept smiling but Akaashi looked at her with a blank stare. 

“I mean with your SSS.” She clarified and Akaashi nodded, though he was still confused. 

No one had ever asked him straight out like that what he saw. Part of him thought it was very personal, something you wouldn’t ask a stranger, but another part of him wanted to answer. Maybe she could understand, maybe just talking about it would help. 

“A clock, mostly.” He answered, “and there’s a library, but that feels different. Do--do you have the same type?” He asked. He didn’t remember what she’d said during her introduction, but he hadn’t thought anyone shared his diagnosis.

She shook her head. “Nope! For me it’s colors. You know, chromesthesia. Pretty boring stuff, really. I wanted to know what it’s like to see your thoughts like, how can you _see_ time. That sounds so wild!” He watched as she bounced on the balls of her feet. She seemed genuinely curious and excited.

The hallway was crowded now with people from their group leaving and Yachi grabbed his arm again to pull him along down the hall.

“Come on!” She said, and he followed without hesitation.

 

A few minutes of Yachi leading him through the labyrinthine corridors of Sendai Hospital found them in a nearly deserted wing with a hallway full of windows looking into segregated wards. He heard music coming from one of the rooms through the door where Yachi stopped and he watched her.

“Wha-”

“Shh,” she put her finger to her lips. The music continued, it sounded classical, but dramatic, nothing Akaashi had heard before. 

“I love this part,” she whispered and the music crescendoed and Yachi swayed to the sounds. She was staring at the door and Akaashi thought she looked totally and completely at ease.

Only when the song died off did Yachi let go of her grip on his arm and turn to face him again. 

“Sorry! I wanted to talk to you but I wanted to get here in time to hear this too!” 

“You knew that song would be playing?” His tone was skeptical. 

“Yep! Every day at this time its the same. One time I asked them what it was so I could buy it and they said it’s a soundtrack to an anime.” She was still smiling but she waved her hand impatiently. “Okay, okay, now tell me about that clock of yours! I want to hear all about it.” 

They walked through the halls, only occasionally passing doctors or nurses until Yachi led them through a door that opened into a small courtyard. The sky was overcast but it didn’t appear to be threatening rain and Yachi sat down on a bench that looked out at the sparse landscaping. Akaashi followed and sat beside her. 

He knew he’d already missed one train back to Tokyo, and there was another in 10 minutes, and a third in an hour. If he missed the third he’d be stuck in Miyagi until morning. He listened to the clock tick over his shoulder as they sat in silence.

“It’s really a lot like having a loud watch.” He said without preamble. She didn’t respond but he could tell she was listening. 

“It actually helps, I’m never really late to anything, I almost always know what time it is. That’s why I know I’ve got half an hour until I need to start walking to the train station to get back to Tokyo on the last train.” She smiled up at him then, he could just barely see her face in his peripheral vision as he looked straight ahead.

“Wow.” She said quietly. “That’s really cool.” 

“How does your color thing work, then?”

“Oh it’s pretty boring, really.”

He thought she’d continue but when she didn’t he asked again. “I really don’t know anything about it, will you explain?” 

She nodded. “So. It’s like sounds have colors to me. When I hear something: music, someone’s voice, a police siren, I see colors. That’s it really, the colors change depending on the sound.”

He nodded back. Seeing color in sound? He wondered what color _Violin Concerto in D Major_ would be, maybe blue, for the melancholy. He wondered what color the music from earlier was to her, that she wanted to hear it every day. He wondered what color his voice was. 

She stood up again, stretching her arms over her head. 

“Come on, I wanna show you somewhere else!” She grabbed his arm and pulled him up with a surprising strength. 

“How do you know so much about this hospital anyway?” He asked

“I’m here twice a week, aren’t I? Sometimes it takes a while for my ride to get here to pick me up.” She kept her hand on his arm as she pulled him back inside. “I like exploring.” 

They wove through the confusing hospital hallways for another five minutes, Yachi nearly jogging so that Akaashi had to walk quickly to keep up. When she stopped they were in another hall, similar to the one where the music had played, but the windows between the hall and the rooms were larger. 

Inside he could see machines, various medical contraptions meant to keep people alive in the most dire circumstances. Most patients were on ventilators, to help them breathe when they couldn’t do it on their own. The sign by the door read “Intensive Care”.

“Why did you bring me here?” Akaashi asked, but before she could answer he noticed something else. 

His clock looked… _different_. 

Maybe it wasn’t that the perpetual ticking over his shoulder was different, because it was still there, firm against his consciousness. This was something else: a new clock. He saw it first over what looked to be an elderly man, though it was difficult to tell with all the tubes and wires wrapped around him. 

The clock looked the same, though, it wasn’t telling time, it was counting down. And it was counting down quickly. 

If Yachi had answered his question he didn’t hear the answer, he only stared at that clock hovering above the lying form of the man in the bed. He felt fear in the back of his throat, choking him, and a dread, stronger than he’d ever felt before, locking his muscles in place. 

When the timer passed two minutes an alarm sounded in the room, alerting the doctors to a problem. A flurry of scrubs and white coats descended on the room and Yachi had to yank him away from the door so that he wasn’t trampled in the rush. 

He watched the timer count down until the man was no longer responding to the doctor’s attempts. The timer hit zero, a clang sounded in his head, and the monitor beside the man flatlined. 

The man had died, and, somehow, Akaashi had known it would happen.

He sprinted from the hall, desperate to get away from that room, the clock, so different than the comforting presence he’d known most of his life. He ran until he hit a dead end. 

He could have been anywhere. The walls were the same off white, the navigational signs meant nothing to him, and the walls felt as if they were closing in. He sunk to his knees.

He heard footsteps, quick clicks on the hard floor, but before he could turn he fell headfirst into his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! Posted a day early. (It was actually finished a week ago, whoops)
> 
> Expect Chapter 3 on April 24th!


	3. to swallow your sadness

The walls slammed up around his mind and sent him sprawling to the floor of the library, flat on his stomach. The shelves were around him, rising tall to the darkness and he was alone. It was a veritable mess of memories, scattered around and out of place, spilling in piles onto the plush carpets. His heart still beat hard against his chest. He sat up on his knees. 

He couldn’t focus on what he had seen, it was too much to process. Had he predicted that man’s death? Or worse, had he somehow caused it? He shook his head at the thought and ran his hands through his hair. No, there was no way, he had to forget it. Besides, when he was in this place he had a purpose. He stood up and brushed himself off, but when he picked up the first memory he froze.

_He was small, he could barely see around his mother’s hip as he clung to her leg. The sun was shining, his mother was laughing. He could see his grandmother, shrunken and curled into a wheelchair, buried by blankets, but still smiling. And there it was: the clock. It read 14 days, 3 hours, 6 minutes._

Akaashi shoved the memory into place. He didn’t have many memories of his grandmother before she passed, and that one wasn’t anything he thought he remembered. He shook his head as if to clear it before grabbing the next page.

_He was walking behind Bokuto, they were walking down a crowded Tokyo street with the rest of the team in tow. The day was overcast, threatening rain. He remembered the goosebumps on his bare arms. A man stepped out of a taxi, cell phone tight to his ear. As he crossed the street he was clipped by a passing bicycle, the clock above his head flashed and then disappeared._

He remembered that time on the busy street. That man had almost died, could have easily been killed by a passing car, or pushed into traffic by the momentum of the bicycle, but he’d been fine, things were changed. The memory was sorted now though, aligned and organized, and Akaashi had more work to do.

 

Yachi didn’t stop running until she nearly tripped over Akaashi, who had sunk to his knees. Her thoughts were a mess: _Was he breathing? She couldn’t tell. If people died didn’t they fall all the way down? Maybe his muscles had seized up and they were all that was holding him up?_

When she knelt down in front of him she could tell he was breathing shallow breaths through his mouth, but his eyes were wide and staring, not even blinking. It felt as if he was looking through her. She glanced around, looking for a doctor or nurse that may be able to help but there was no one in sight. Certainly she couldn’t leave him alone, right? Who knew what might happen?

She tentatively rested her hands against his upper arms and squeezed gently. She would just sit here and watch over him. He’d said some stuff about his symptoms, right? This had to be something that was normal for him. She hoped it was normal.

She wondered why he had run from the ICU in the first place. She’d been pretty focused on waving to her friend Rika, who was in the ICU recovering from a serious surgery and she hadn’t noticed Akaashi’s reaction to the room until the alarm in the room had sounded and she pushed him from the path of the doctors. The alarm was a bright red flashing across her eyes. Then he started running.

She pulled out her phone and scrolled through her contacts, keeping one hand against Akaashi's arm. Kiyoko was meant to be meeting her at the train station to ride back with her, she found Kiyoko's number and hit send. She answered after two rings. 

"Yachi, where are you?" Kiyoko's voice was soft but concerned, a deep midnight blue emanating from the receiver.. 

"I'm still in the hospital, I made a friend and we were talking but I think he needs help but I can't leave him alone." Yachi wasn’t sure what to do, but if she told Kiyoko the problem it could be fixed. She could always help. 

"Where in the hospital? I'll find you." 

Yachi looked around. She wasn't really sure where they were. "If you go to the ICU and then follow the left hallway all the way down you should be close." She struggled to remember the route she'd chased him through. The hospital wasn’t incredibly large, as far as city hospitals went, but the hallways were a maze, and the navigational signs left something to be desired. 

"Okay." Kiyoko replied and hung up the phone. 

 

After the pages of the second memory aligned he felt a tug at his sleeve. The shadow of his smaller self stood beside him, an expectant smile spreading across his face. Akaashi looked down at him, and shook his head before he could speak. 

"No, I can't play with you today." He ran his hands through his hair, pulling his sleeve from the boy's grip. 

"But you never play with me, 'Kaashi!" The boy whined, but his smile was still there, still bright. 

He shook his head again.

"Why not?" The boy replied, and he reached for Akaashi's sleeve, tugging again and bouncing on his toes. 

"I'm busy." It was his normal reply, but it was the truth. The library was still strewn with memories, falling from almost every shelf. He had to get them straight, or he could never leave. 

The boy seemed to accept this answer, as he usually did, and he nodded solemnly. Before Akaashi could watch him go, he was gone. 

 

Yachi saw Kiyoko before Kiyoko saw her. 

"Kiyoko! Over here!" She called down the deserted hallway, and Kiyoko's head snapped to the side at the sound. 

"There you are! Are you okay?" She asked as she jogged towards the still kneeling Yachi. 

"I'm fine, I'm fine," she replied, waving her hand to dispel Kiyoko's worrying. "It's my friend Akaashi, I don't know how to help him." 

Kiyoko looked down at Akaashi's staring eyes and how Yachi's hand clung protectively to his shoulder and nodded once. 

"I'll find a nurse. Stay here. Don't move." Kiyoko said, and the left. Yachi could see the sound of her footsteps retreating, light blue taps, more like ripples than anything. 

"It's okay, Akaashi, Kiyoko is here now, she'll get a nurse and you'll be fine." She wasn't sure if she was reassuring him or herself at this point, but the words needed to be said. Of all the numbers in her phone, including Tadashi's, she was glad she'd called Kiyoko. She could fix anything if she tried. 

Akaashi's eyes were still staring and Yachi wondered if they were dry, just looking and not blinking like that. He had nice looking eyes. She sometimes wished she could see the color. So many movies and tv shows and songs talked loads about how beautiful the color of people's eyes were. She put her other hand on Akaashi's shoulder and smoothed his tshirt with her hands. Sometimes she really wished she was ordinary. 

 

Akaashi had just reached the final shelf, and only one page remained. It was barely off kilter, just slightly sticking to the side with it's edges ragged and crumpled.

_He was young, younger than the child in the library, his black hair was long and hanging in his eyes. The day was bright, the sun beating hot over his pale skin. He was at a park, he could see the swings around him, full of laughing children. And then it hurt. Everything hurt, in his head he was screaming, and then he was screaming out loud. He was angry, scared, his mother didn't know what to do, he didn't know what to do. He just needed the sound to stop. His mother carried him into their car and slammed the door shut. It was quiet. The pain was gone._

With the page in place Akaashi sat on the floor and crossed his legs. That memory seemed so out of place compared to the others. The clock had been there, of course, it always was, but it wasn't prevalent. The sound was there. It was the sound of laughing children that triggered it occasionally, or an ambulance siren, some static white noise. He didn't understand the anger or the fear, but his lack of understanding didn't make it any less terrifying. Misophonia, the doctors called it. And his was mild. He couldn't imagine how someone could handle anything worse. Sometimes he really just wished he could be ordinary.

 

Kiyoko came back into sight, a female nurse walking obediently behind her.

"He's just down here." Yachi heard Kiyoko tell the nurse.

Yachi stroked his shoulders reassuringly as they approached. He was still stiff and unblinking. The nurse knelt down beside them both.

"Here, let me." She said, attempting to dislodge Yachi's hands. She noticed sweat on Akaashi's forehead, just a bead or two, and she felt an urge to push his hair away from his eyes. Before the nurse could move her, she did so. His hair was soft and slightly damp where it met his skin, and then he blinked.

 

Akaashi was wondering what to do now. Sometimes the library, though completely organized, kept him for longer periods of time. He almost thought he would seek out the boy, tell him it was finally time to play, when the walls began to shake. It was a different feeling, the light was silver, bright but not quite white, and it illuminated the walls until the shaking couldn't be seen, and they were gone. And he blinked.

His mouth and eyes were dry and he blinked until he could see again. Two faces blurred in front of him, and another figure stood behind them both.

"Akaashi! Are you okay?!" It was Yachi's voice, and there, it was Yachi's face too, in front of his. Her hands were on his shoulders.

He tried to speak but his mouth was still too dry, he swallowed again and nodded instead. Yachi was pulled away, and the other person in front of him took her place.

“Akaashi, is it? Can you please follow this light with your eyes?” The nurse asked, as she clicked a small light the size of a pen and shined it into each of his eyes in turn. She ran him through a few other simple diagnostic tests before nodding tersely and turning to the girl who was standing. 

“He shouldn’t be alone, but I don’t know if he needs to be admitted to the hospital. Are you his sister?” 

The girl shook her head, she was a stranger to Akaashi, her straight dark hair hung around her shoulders and she looked at the nurse through wire framed glasses. 

“I’ve never met him.” She said when the nurse didn’t reply. 

“I’ve got,” Akaashi said. His voice was scratchy and weak. “I have an aunt, she works here. She’s a surgeon, can you call her?” 

Ten minutes later Yachi was sitting on the floor beside him, their backs against the wall. The other girl paced back and forth in front of them. Yachi was holding his hand and the softness of her skin was a comfort. His aunt was coming down the hallway. She was short, probably close to Yachi’s height, but round where Yachi was slender. 

“Keiji!” His aunt yelled as she neared him. “Why didn’t your mother tell me you’d be here? I would have picked you up from the train station!” 

“You’re very busy, Obasan.” Akaashi replied. “She told me not to bother you unless I needed to.” 

“Nonsense! I’m never too busy for my favorite nephew!” She leaned down and grabbed his free hand, pulled him up from the floor, and hugged him. Yachi had only let go of his hand when he stood up.

“Oh, this is Yachi, she’s in my therapy group.” He said as he pulled away, gesturing to Yachi who was rising to her feet. She shook his aunt’s hand. 

“Well, Yachi-san. You’ll be coming to dinner tonight, then won’t you? Your friend too, of course.” 

Yachi smiled and nodded. 

“We don’t want to intrude.” Yachi’s friend spoke up at last. Akaashi’s aunt was shaking her head before the sentence was even complete.

“Nonsense, nonsense, girls, I’m taking my nephew here home, and we’re going to have a great meal together and I’m going to get to know all three of you.”

The girl nodded stiffly again.

“I’m Shimizu Kiyoko.” She said, and stepped forward to shake his aunt’s hand as well. 

His aunt clapped her hands together. "Nice to meet you both. Alright folks, let's get out of here!"

 

Yachi wasn't sure what to make of the woman who introduced herself as Akaashi's aunt. Supposedly she was a surgeon, but Yachi was pretty familiar with the doctors of his hospital and she hadn't seen her before. What if she wasn't a surgeon but a con artist instead? What if she took them home for dinner but scammed them? No, no she couldn't. Yachi shook her head as she followed behind Akaashi and his aunt. Surely Akaashi would know if his own aunt was a con artist.

Kiyoko was walking next to her, and Yachi took her hand. "Everything will be fine, right?" She said softly. Kiyoko nodded. If she said it would be fine, Yachi believed it would be fine, but she should probably call Tadashi and say she wouldn't be home tonight in case he wanted to see her.

Both girls followed the woman and boy out of the hospital and towards the train station. It seemed Akaashi's aunt didn't have a car, either, and the local trains were still running. Yachi pulled out her phone and dialed Tadashi's number. He picked up quickly.

"Hitoka, what's going on, are you okay?" His voice sounded anxious through the phone, tinged with a brighter green than normal that meant he was worried.

"Everything's just fine!" She replied cheerily. "I just won't be home early tonight, so we can't watch that anime we were going to watch together, I'm sorry."

"Oh, that's okay." The worry was gone, his voice back to the soft light green of its normal tone, gentle on her tired eyes. "Did therapy run long?"

"Not really, I made a new friend though, his name is Akaashi. Kiyoko and I got invited to have dinner with him and his aunt, that's why I won't be home." The train was pulling into the station now and Kiyoko motioned for her to wrap it up. It would be nearly impossible to carry on a phone conversation in the crowded train.

"Hey, Tadashi, I gotta go! The train is pulling in and you know how crowded these Sendai local trains get!" She laughed and she could hear him laugh softly as well.

"Alright, I'll see you later then, hopefully later this week?" 

"Yes! Definitely!" She replied, and yelled out a quick bye as she ended the call and stepped onto the waiting train. Tadashi was almost always supportive, she knew she could count on him to not be overly worried for her safety, especially if she wasn't alone. Everything would work out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early post again wOoOo
> 
> This chapter gave me a lot of trouble, if you follow me on twitter you'd see that I whined about it nearly constantly for the last two weeks. Hopefully everyone's still interested in what's happening!
> 
> Chapter Four will be out May 8th!!


	4. hands are in your hair

Akaashi's aunt's house was small and traditional, with a garden surrounded by a low wall. The sun was setting as the group approached the gate and Yachi could just see the last of the light sinking below the buildings of Sendai. She was still holding Kiyoko's hand tight.

Dinner passed quickly and pleasantly, Akaashi's aunt filled the silences with amiable chatter and the meal was delicious. By the end of the meal, Yachi was reluctant to leave.

"Akaashi, are you going to be alright?" She asked him as they stood by the door.

He nodded. "Yes, I'll be fine. Today was nothing different than normal for me, and I have a place to stay. Thank you for helping me, Yachi-san. I appreciate it." His voice was monotone but polite and she bowed slightly towards him.

"Will I see you on Wednesday?" She asked, thinking of their next group therapy session. Yachi had noticed a lot of people didn't come back after the first, but she hoped Akaashi would.

He nodded again and she smiled. "Yes, I will be there."

They said their goodbyes and Yachi and Kiyoko left together, headed to where Kiyoko's father was waiting with his car. The trains that went to Karasuno did not run this late. The car pulled up outside Yachi's house just after 9pm and she hugged Kiyoko quickly outside the car and went inside.

The house was dark and she leaned against the door when she shut it. It had been a long day, and stressful, and Yachi was nearly out of breath. She left her bag by the door and crept upstairs, hardly having the energy to undress before collapsing into bed.

She was awoken by her phone ringing, a harsh red sound, and she rubbed the sleep from her eyes before answering.

"Hello?" She mumbled.

"Good morning." The voice was pleasant and green. Tadashi.

"Mm, morning." She snuggled deeper into her pillows but held the phone to her ear.

"How are you feeling?"

"Fine. Tired. You woke me up." Yachi wasn’t a morning person, and she lacked her normal energy before 10AM. 

"Oh! I'm sorry!" Tadashi apologized and she smiled a little into her pillowcase.

"..mmfine." She said, though he may not have been able to understand her.

"Did you want to watch that show with me today? You've been talking about the soundtrack for months."

Yachi sat up at last and rubbed her eyes again. "Yes! I definitely want to. Oh gosh, I'm so excited what time can I come over?"

Tadashi laughed and they made their plans.

They spent the afternoon on Tadashi’s couch, holding hands and staring intently at the dramatic anime on the screen. She couldn’t see the colors, but he told her they were beautiful. The soundtrack was just as good as it had been when she first heard it. She burrowed against his side as the episodes passed and he put his arm around her shoulder. 

They were comfortable together, they always had been from the time they first met. Yachi didn’t used to be comfortable around anyone, let alone people a foot taller than her, and it had taken her more than two weeks as Volleyball Club Manager-in-Training to even speak to him, but once she did it was easy. He was sweet, even shyer than her and she liked holding his hand. 

The next few days at school were uneventful and by the time Wednesday afternoon rolled around Yachi was eager to see Akaashi again. They hadn’t remembered to exchange phone numbers and she hadn’t heard how he was doing after the event in the hospital on Saturday. 

Kiyoko rode the train with her into Sendai. Each week, twice a week, Yachi tried to convince her that she could go alone and each week, twice a week, Kiyoko had a convenient reason that she needed to go to Sendai so they _may as well_ take the train together. 

The therapy room looked much the same as it always did, she was one of the first people there, but she took a seat on the opposite side of the room, hoping to sit next to Akaashi when he arrived. He came in, looking tired, and she waved and gestured to the empty seat beside her. 

“Hey, Akaashi-san!” She said as he sat down, he just smiled back at her. Dr. Hamada entered a few seconds later and the group quieted down. 

The class went much the same usual, with group members sharing their experiences and offering each other support. Yachi didn’t speak today, but her eyes went wide when Akaashi raised his hand and volunteered. 

His voice was silver and melodic when he spoke. He shared a little more about his story, mentioning a boy at school who was aware of his condition and seemed to have no problem accepting it. He wondered if the boy could count as part of a support system, and Dr. Hamada nodded cheerily.

“If a person matters to you, and they are there for you when you need them, that’s all that’s needed to be considered support. Support is highly subjective, if you feel it, then it’s real.” 

Dr. Hamada seemed like she was ready to move the conversation onto another person but Akaashi spoke up again.

“Wait. If you feel it then it’s real? Does that work for...other things?” He paused and some of the group looked at him with confused expressions. 

“Will you expand on that?” The doctor prompted.

“I mean, the things I see, the time and the way that I organize my thoughts, I can feel those things, I can see them, even, does that mean they’re real?” His voice was hesitant and he sounded more scared than Yachi had ever heard him, even more than when he’d woken up on the hallway floor.

Dr. Hamada considered the question thoughtfully, crossing and then uncrossing her arms. 

“Real is also highly subjective, Akaashi-san. If you believe it is real for you, then surely that’s all that matters?” She phrased her question as if it were a fact and Akaashi’s muscles visibly loosened. Yachi nodded enthusiastically as if the doctor’s words wholly and completely applied to her. _If you believe it’s real for you…_ She wondered if she could apply that philosophy to other things. 

The rest of the meeting went as expected, most members spoke up, but few said anything Yachi hadn't heard before. When Dr. Hamada called an end to the meeting the group filed out. She grabbed Akaashi's arm, waited for the rest of the people to disperse, and then nodded towards the door.

"Where are we going, today?" He asked when they were in the hallway.

"My second favorite place!" She chirped. She didn't let go of his arm, she just slid her hand down until she could hold his hand. It was dry and warm and much larger than hers.

"Your second favorite place in the hospital or anywhere?" His voice sounded bored, the silver emanating flat from his mouth, but she could tell he was actually curious. She laughed.

"Probably both! Wait. No. It's my favorite place in the hospital, my second favorite place in the world." They were headed towards a stairwell and Akaashi looked at her from the corner of his eye when she paused before it. She was a little out of breath from the pace at which they'd been walking, and she had to steel herself for the climb.

"We could take the elevator." Akaashi suggested, and she almost hugged him. She didn't want to show weakness in front of him, but the more she considered the four flight climb the less she thought she'd be able to do it.

"Do you have a bus to catch soon?"

He shook his head. "There's one in ten minutes, but I can catch the one after that. We've got a half hour." She nodded and pulled him towards the nearest elevator. They got off at the top floor and she headed back towards the stairwell.

"Where are you taking me?" He asked, but she didn't answer, she just laughed and lugged open the heavy metal door.

"We're almost there!" She began climbing. She knew her pace was slower than Akaashi's could be, but he slowed down. She had much shorter legs than him, and she lost her breath easily when climbing stairs. When they went up the final flight they reached a metal door with a sign that read "Roof Access" and below it, in smaller words, "authorized personnel only."

Yachi reached for the door and Akaashi pulled her back by their joined hands. "Yachi-san." She looked back at him and saw the hesitation.

"Oh it's fine! I've got permission. I know most of the doctors here, they all love me. They let me come up here. I pinky promised that I wouldn't jump." She laughed but he didn't. He was still skeptical.

"Are you sure?" He asked, eyeing the door that was just barely cracked open, held by Yachi's free hand.

"Yes! I promise!" He nodded then and they went through the door.

The flat roof spread out around them and Yachi took a deep breath of the fresh air. The roof of the stairwell was the highest point, only matched by three other stairwells that could be seen across the flat expanse. The low buildings that separated the hospital from the edge of town did nothing to obstruct the view, and Yachi could see all the way to the fields. 

She loved the view, she hadn’t been lying when she said this was her second favorite place. It was nearly silent, a world of greys and blacks and the bright white of the sun beating down. On hot days the roof radiated heat so hot she couldn’t sit down. Today was overcast though, and a breeze ruffled her hair. She pulled Akaashi further forward and moved to her favorite place to sit, near the edge, but not so near as to be dangerous. 

“How are you feeling?” She asked him. It felt good to turn the question around, for once. Akaashi was the only friend she had who didn’t badger her about her own condition. 

He shrugged. “Fine, I guess. I’m sorry about Saturday. That was just normal for me, but I probably scared you.” 

She waved her hands to ward off his concern. “No, no! I wasn’t scared. Well. Maybe I was scared but it’s okay you don’t need to apologize!” 

He nodded back at her and stared out towards the horizon. She wondered what he could see out there. When he didn’t speak, she did.

“So who was that boy you mentioned? The one who knows about all this?” She was curious about his friends, he seemed like such a quiet person. 

“Oh?” He seemed surprised that she would ask, but he continued. “His name is Bokuto. He’s the captain of the volleyball team. I guess we’re friends.” She could see the bright silver of his voice pulsating in a way that it didn’t when he spoke of more mundane things, and she smiled to herself.

“Is he cute?” She asked and Akaashi turned to her sharply, his mouth dropped open in surprise. 

“Why do you ask?” His voice was back to it’s normal monotone.

“Because you like him, right?” She was still smiling. She had an intuition for this sort of thing, and she was almost certain. “It’s okay, Akaashi-san, you don’t have to worry, no judgement here.” 

He sighed and she knew she was right. “Yes he’s handsome.” 

“Why don’t you ask him out?” She poked him lightly in the side, but he sat stiffly and looked towards the fields again. 

“I don’t think he likes me like that, Yachi-san. And I’m the vice-captain, a relationship wouldn’t be appropriate.” She could see how sad he looked at that prospect, and she knew that this wasn’t the first time he’d considered it. 

“You know, I bet he likes you too, I mean, what’s not to like?” She laughed again and leaned over, resting her head against his shoulder. His muscles loosened slightly and he leaned into her. 

“That’s easy for you to say. How’s your boyfriend, Tadashi, wasn’t it?” 

“Oh! He’s good. He’s almost always good. He’s a good boyfriend.” She felt like she was probably saying the word “good” too many times, but that was the primary word she thought when she thought of Tadashi. He was just entirely _good_ , and that was just fine. 

“He’s supportive, right?” 

“Definitely.” She thought of how Tadashi and Kiyoko both supported her and smiled. “I’ve got good support. Kiyoko, too, you met her. She takes me everywhere, goes out of her way to help. It’s almost too much, but I really like spending time with her, she’s so nice.” 

“Mm. I’m glad. I don’t have any friends like her really, except maybe you.” 

She sat up and looked at him. He didn’t look at her, just away off the roof. “You definitely have me, Akaashi! I’ll be here for you!” He smiled and glanced at her and she smiled back. 

They sat like that together for a few more minutes before Akaashi told her he had to go if he wanted to catch the train. She met Kiyoko in the lobby and they took their train home. When they stepped off at the station Yachi grabbed Kiyoko’s hand.

“Can we go to Shibuya, soon?” She glanced up just enough to see Kiyoko nod. 

“Forgetting colors again?”

“Not forgetting, really, I just don’t see enough. The people in Shibuya feel brighter.” 

Kiyoko nodded again. “Next weekend then? Maybe Sunday?”

“Definitely! Thank you.” 

“You don’t need to thank me.”

The next few weeks passed similarly. She spent her time at the hospital or Tadashi’s house. She went to Shibuya with Kiyoko and sat and watched people for hours. Tadashi and her finished the anime they were watching and started it a second time, she learned to play a few songs from the soundtrack on her small keyboard and smiled so big that her cheeks hurt. 

Twice a week she met with Akaashi, and they learned more about each other as they sat on the roof. He still hadn’t asked out that boy, despite how insistent Yachi tried to be. He talked about his violin lessons, the volleyball team, how he thought they’d do. She told him about the volleyball team Tadashi was on, how Kiyoko was the manager, how she wanted to be the manager next year when Kiyoko graduated. He still treated her like she was completely normal and Yachi appreciated that more than anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can never resist posting slightly earlier than I say I'm going to. 
> 
> First full Yachi POV! I finished this chapter fairly quickly, I hope it doesn't feel like too much of a filler chapter, I promise the story is building.
> 
> Chapter 5 will be posted May 22nd! (or before, because, you know)


	5. your breeze; the sounds

In the few weeks that Akaashi and Yachi had been visiting the hospital rooftop, Akaashi had begun to think of it as one of _his_ favorite places as well. He liked how quiet it was, how the roof was flat and firm underneath him. He liked how he could see the fields that he never got to see back in Tokyo. 

He hadn’t seen the countdown-clock since the first time, and his memories returned to the normal nonsense that he organized with care. He wasn’t sure if it was the support group, or the doctor, or even meeting Yachi, but something felt different. It was a good different, as if his foot had been caught in a snare and now he could swim again, he could keep his head above water. 

He watched the sun sink beyond the horizon, he was alone on the rooftop, Yachi had been absent from the group but he found himself here anyways. He left once it was fully dark, the lights of the city around him glowing gently, and the cold seeping through his thin shirts. 

The next day at volleyball practice he was stopped by the school principal. She was close to Akaashi’s height with features that appeared too large for her face, especially when she smiled. He’d just come into the gym from the club room when she approached. 

“Akaashi-kun, may I speak with you?” 

He nodded and followed to where she led him near the door. 

“If you remember we discussed training someone on the volleyball team in the proper ways to support you and your medical conditions?” 

Akaashi nodded, but when she hesitated he spoke up. “Is there no one willing?” He had hoped the advisor would be willing, it wasn’t _too_ much extra work, really, though the advisor wasn’t always there during practices. 

“Oh, no, that’s not the problem.” 

Akaashi breathed a sigh of relief, but then looked at the principal with a questioning expression. She continued, turning her eyes towards the middle of the gym where the team was beginning their warm ups. 

“Your team captain came to me and volunteered to be in charge of your medical well being during all volleyball activities.” She paused and he looked over at her. 

“Bokuto-san?” 

“Yes.” She sighed slightly and focused her attention back towards him. “I wanted to refuse him, I hadn’t intended to give a student such responsibility, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer. He has spent the last few weeks taking first aid classes and he came to me this morning to show me his certification.” 

Akaashi looked across the gym to where Bokuto was stretching, sitting on the floor and leaning over to reach his toes. He must’ve felt Akaashi’s eyes because he looked up and smiled. It was true that Bokuto was hard working, but that was almost exclusively to do with volleyball. The fact that he had done so much extra work to help Akaashi was surprising, and exhilarating. 

“You said you _wanted_ to say no…” His voice was quiet, the hope strangling any other emotion from his tone. 

“I told him yes, as long as you accepted it. It’s really been a dangerous oversight that no one was trained before.”

He nodded again, pulling his eyes from Bokuto to face the principal. “Yes, I accept. Thank you, ma’am.” 

She nodded back, and they settled the details of the special training Bokuto would receive from the school nurse and she shook his hand before she left. 

He didn’t have time to speak with Bokuto as practice started and he began to warm up. Practice passed quickly and Bokuto approached him once he left the club room fully dressed. 

For once he almost seemed at a loss for words, and it was Akaashi who spoke first. 

“Thank you for volunteering, Bokuto-san.” Bokuto’s shoulders relaxed and he looked visibly relieved, he clapped Akaashi on the shoulder. 

“I’m your captain, right, it’s my job!” He said it with an ease that Akaashi couldn’t quite believe. “You’re welcome. Hey.. Akaashi?” 

Akaashi was distracted, noting the time; he had less than twenty minutes to make it to his violin practice. 

“Sorry, Bokuto-san, I have to go, see you tomorrow!” He waved a hand and jogged off in the direction of the train station. He didn’t hear if Bokuto said goodbye, but he saw him wave slightly when Akaashi looked over his shoulder. 

The clouds hung low overhead when Akaashi knocked on his instructor’s door. It almost felt like the sound was echoing, despite the open street around him. The old woman answered the door quickly, and hurried him inside. 

“It’s meant to be raining, boy, did you hold it off until you could get inside?” She mused, wandering down the hallway and leading him as if he didn’t know the way. They settled in, him in the chair, her on the piano bench. 

He pulled his violin from his case wordlessly and began playing from the sheet music. At this point he had _Violin Concerto in D Major_ nearly completely memorized, but he loved it all the same. The music swelled in his chest with the sweet melancholy of the strings against his fingers. 

He found his mind wandering as his arm swayed, the bow dragging smoothly. He remembered the smile on Bokuto’s face as he waved from across the gym, and how Dr. Hamada told him things are real if they feel real, and, just _how_ real that felt. He thought of Yachi’s face when she looked over the fields, how her hands felt nice on his shoulders and the friendship they’d built in just a few weeks. He thought of his mother and his aunt and even Yachi’s friend Kiyoko. 

He felt the vibration in his fingertips as the music crescendoed and his instructor lifted his hand to stop him before he finished the piece. 

“What were you feeling there, Akaashi-san?” She asked and he looked at her blankly. 

“What do you mean?” He rested his violin on his lap as she turned slightly from her place on the piano bench to face him more directly.

“You were feeling something, thinking something different. I was wondering what it is. The music was stronger. You’re not usually this emotional, Akaashi-san.” 

He nodded but didn’t answer immediately. He _had_ been thinking about different things, things about family and friends that he didn’t normally associate with his music. It felt strange, having so much more than he had before when he didn’t think he’d been missing anything at all. 

His life was order, routine and, more than anything, keeping his emotions in control, what could have changed in just a few months that he’d lost that tight grip? As soon as he had thought the question he answered it: his twice weekly train rides to Miyagi, Yachi’s bright smile, Dr. Hamada’s therapy. 

“I think I’m happier, sensei.” He answered, and her smile told him that was what she’d been wanting to hear. 

“From the top of the second page then, let’s get this perfect! The community recital is coming up very quickly, you know, it wouldn’t do to be unprepared!”

It was, indeed, raining when he left his instructor’s house. The clouds felt less oppressive in the dark, and the city lights reflected back, basking the streets in an orange electric glow. He huddled beneath his jacket hood, thankful that his violin had a waterproof case, and stalked towards the station and home. 

His mother was already in bed by the time he made it home. He left his shoes and jacket dripping in the entryway and warmed up the dinner she’d left for him in the refrigerator. 

_For Keiji_ , the note on the plastic-wrapped plate said, and he smiled a little as he ate it. 

He woke up early, to a text message from Yachi. The previous day’s clouds had cleared and the sun shone brightly against his window blinds. 

_[Heyyy :))) I won’t be at group this Sat. but I was thinking during the upcoming break Kiyoko, Tadashi and I were going to come to Tokyo, do you want to meet up?]_

He wiped his eyes and smiled slightly before replying. 

_[Yeah, that sounds good. I’ll show you around. I think my team captain has some get together planned, but I’ll ask him what he thinks about you coming.]_

_[Yay! See you next week at group!]_

When he dressed and went to the kitchen his mother was reading the paper and sipping coffee. She wordlessly handed him a cup. After a few minutes of silence she spoke. 

“How’s everything been, Keiji? I feel like we haven’t seen each other in weeks.” 

He held his mug in both hands, swallowing a gulp before he replied, the coffee stinging hot in his throat. “Good.” 

“Actually good? Or _mom-stop-talking-to-me_ good?” She smiled and he smiled back. 

“Actually good, I promise. I’ve just been busy.” 

“How is that friend you mentioned, the one from group therapy?” 

“She’s good. She won’t be at therapy this weekend again, she texted me this morning. She might come to Tokyo during school break though.” He took another sip of his coffee, savoring how he was already starting to feel more awake.

“Oh really? I hope I get to meet her then.” 

“She’ll want to meet you, too, I’m sure.” 

She nodded in reply and finished the last of her coffee. He watched as she cleaned the glass and her breakfast dishes and he thought again about the idea of his support system. He knew he was glad to have her. 

Saturday came quickly, and Akaashi found himself on the train to Sendai Station. The Omiya stop faded from sight and he sunk further in his seat, focusing on the music playing through his headphones. He’d had his first official health related meeting with Bokuto the day before. 

Bokuto had been anxious, happy and bouncing the way he normally got before a game, but when the nurse and principal had left them alone he got quiet, his hands twisted together and he wouldn’t make eye contact no matter how hard Akaashi tried. 

“Is everything alright, Bokuto-san?” Akaashi had asked him, and his voice seemed to snap the captain out of whatever trance he’d been in. 

“Great!” He’d replied and finished the routine of arm movements he needed to practice on Akaashi. His hands no longer shook where they rested against Akaashi’s biceps and they finished the meeting without further incident. The look on Bokuto’s face had bothered him though, there was something different, something _changing_ in his expression. 

Akaashi almost wished for an event, something to trigger the library so he could, hopefully, look closer at these memories that were bothering him. There was something comforting about the tall wooden shelves and how the pages spread under his fingers. He hadn’t been there more than a few seconds since the time in the hospital with Yachi. 

The train pulled to a stop at Sendai Station and Akaashi shuffled off the platform with the rest of the travelers, his headphones tight against his ears to shut out stray noises and distractions. 

He settled into his seat in therapy, his eyes needlessly casting around, looking for Yachi despite the fact he knew she wouldn't be there. Dr. Hamada introduced herself again, and Akaashi noticed that there was one new member, an older woman who nervously tapped her foot against the metal leg of the chair. 

Akaashi kept being distracted, his focus drifting to the sound of the tapping foot. She was two seats down from him and he realized he'd heard very little of the doctor's words. 

The sound of a chair scraping against the floor and then toppling over pulled him from his thoughts. Too late, Akaashi remembered that the man between them also suffered from misophonia, and the man was standing and screaming before anyone could stop him. 

He was in a blind rage, yelling nonsense and stomping his feet, but he made no move to approach anyone. The woman had fled from her chair and now stood against the wall. 

As suddenly as it started, the yelling stopped, and the man dropped to the floor, sitting where his chair had once been. Without the stimulus, most likely the foot tapping, he was calm again. 

Akaashi was terrified. He knew he'd experienced something similar, that first time at the park with his mother, and a few times since, over the years, but he'd never seen it from the outside, the irrational anger, the innocuous cause, and how quickly it all ended. He wondered if the man remembered, but he didn't dare ask. 

Dr. Hamada called a nurse and they escorted the man to another part of the hospital to be evaluated as well as isolated from any stimuli that could trigger a second situation. 

She dismissed the class, twenty minutes earlier than they normally ended, on the grounds that they would not be able to focus and some of the group members were rather shaken.

Part of Akaashi was grateful, as he sat on the platform waiting for the train. His misophonia had always been such a minor part of his life, but now it loomed like another obstacle on the horizon. The aching thought of normalcy was still there, the wish that he could just _live_ without worrying about his peers having medical training, or if the look in their eyes was more concern or affection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I'm rly not happy with this chapter but I think the next one will be a lot better. :) 
> 
> Expect it June 5th:)
> 
> **EDIT:  
>  Due to the Sports Anime Shipping Olympics and general busy-ness I'm not going to be able to update this regularly again until probably the end of the summer. I hope that some of y'all are still here when I come back, because there's a lot more story to tell. **
> 
> **In the mean time, if you want to keep up w/ what I'm doing you can find me on twitter at[@iwaizumemes](http://www.twitter.com/iwaizumemes)**


End file.
